


Baby It's All About the Moon

by gallantrejoinder



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Party, drunk makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallantrejoinder/pseuds/gallantrejoinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is tipsy, and this is her best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby It's All About the Moon

The truth comes out some time after Sansa loses count of how many drinks she’s had, let alone what they were. She’d thought when they came here, that Margaery did this kind of thing all the time - after all, she’s royalty on the party scene. But as they lie there in a stranger’s bedroom, giggles fading into the heavy bass thumping through the walls, Margaery whispers “I’ve never drunk that much before.”

For some reason, that makes Sansa’s heart flutter underneath her well-worn rose pendant, the one Margaery had bought her months ago. Margaery has been her greatest supporter since her father’s death, but lately, things have felt different. Margaery’s flirtation with Joffrey has made her distant from Sansa. Her admittance in this dark and isolated room feels like an olive branch, a kind of apology for the past few weeks.

“Grandma’s always telling me to go to these parties and make friends with all the other rich kids,” Margaery continues, “But she always makes me swear I won’t drink.”

Sansa rolls over towards Margaery’s sprawled form in the dark, and murmurs “I’ve never been drunk either,” feeling a thrill at her own confession.

Margaery smiles, almost sadly, teeth glinting in the light of the moon. It is not the dangerous smile she uses with Joffrey, or the disarming, sweet smile she uses in public. 

“I know,” she replies, and turns over to face Sansa, scooting closer. Sansa can smell  
alcohol on them both and faint, flowery perfume. Margaery’s face suddenly takes on a much more serious expression. 

“Do you know,” she says, “I can’t bloody stand Joffrey.” 

Stunned, Sansa pauses before she answers. “Well, good. He’s a complete tosser. I can’t believe I ever dated him.” Margaery begins to giggle, and Sansa joins her, and soon they’re both hysterically laughing.

Through her laughter, Margaery manages to sputter out more confessions. “You know – this is hilarious, no, Sansa, seriously – Grandma told me I should try to marry him!”

“Oh god, what did you say?” Sansa says, briefly feeling a flurry of fear sober her.

Margaery has to take a few moments to choke in a breath before she’s in any fit state to answer. “I told her – I said – ‘Grandma, I’d sooner marry Renly!” Howling with laughter, Margaery rolls onto her back and tears roll down her cheeks. 

“And she said –” Margaery’s voice takes on a haughty tone – “Well, it was only a _suggestion_ , granddaughter. But I told her, it’s one thing to act the beard for your own brother’s boyfriend, but if I married Joffrey we’d need to commit mariticide!” They continue to giggle and splutter, imagining various ways of killing off Joffrey. Paying off his bodyguards. Dropping a piano on him. Slipping poison into his wedding toast. 

Eventually, their giggling subsides and Margaery rolls back over to face Sansa. The party seems to fade around them as Sansa stares at Margaery, who sighs. Her eyes are a deep, earthy brown. They are always infinitely comforting in a crisis. Margaery knows how to talk to people, how to charm crowds, and Sansa is not immune to her effect. At this close range, even half in shadow, Sansa feels peace steal over her as she gazes at her best friend.

But then again, it could be the alcohol talking.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” Margaery whispers suddenly. Sansa feels a familiar pang of grief, and breaks her gaze.

“It’s ok,” she says, even though it’s not, it’ll never be ok, and she only drank tonight because she was trying to pretend it could be. “I’m all right.”

“No you’re not,” Margaery says, and when Sansa raises her head there’s a look in Margaery’s eyes that pierces right through her as she raises her hand to just gently brush Sansa’s neck, back and forth.

Embarrassingly, Sansa feels tears forming in her eyes - tears she worked to hard to conceal from the press, from the other kids, especially from Joffrey. Even from her mother, whose own grief was no secret in their family. 

Perhaps it’s the night air drifting in through the open window, or the anonymity found in stranger’s bedrooms and big cities, but Sansa feels strangely free to grieve. At home, there are her siblings and her mother to think of, and rooms that are still immersed in memories of her father. But here, there’s only Margaery and the blue light of the moon.

“Please don’t cry,” Margaery whispers. Her hand stills and then skims up Sansa’s cheek to wipe the tears away. Ever so slowly, she leans in, as unsure as Sansa has ever seen her - _because_ of Sansa.

Margaery kisses her cheek. Just softly. Her lips are still glossy from the bright make up she applied just before the party; laughing as Sansa worried her eye shadow would be too bold. She pauses as she pulls back, searching Sansa’s eyes for any sign of discontent. But Sansa sighs and closes her eyes before leaning in and kissing Margaery’s mouth.

And although Sansa has only ever known Joffrey’s bruising cruelty, as Margaery brushes her tongue against her lips, Sansa shivers and pulls her closer, running her hands down to Margaery’s waist and opening her mouth for her. She can taste the salt of her own tears and the alcohol on their breath, and she feels tingles spread throughout her whole body as Margaery’s tongue slides into her mouth. 

Sansa is tipsy, and this is her best friend. Her best friend who is dating her awful ex boyfriend, her best friend whom she worries about constantly, because Joffrey is a fool of a boy, but he cannot be checked. In the morning there will be silences and awkward stuttering, and even now, Sansa’s grief has not dissipated, but –

Margaery is her _best friend_ , and she is warm, and she is there. The exposed skin between her skirt and the hem of her blouse is soft, and as Margaery pulls her ever closer, slipping her leg between Sansa’s, maybe – just maybe, Margaery can be her knight in shining armour for tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an prompt from a friend on tumblr! Original post [here.](http://sansaofhousestark-archive.tumblr.com/post/68604036681)


End file.
